


Stolen Choices

by softmoonlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Child Soldiers, Commander Fox Week, First Meetings, Gen, Guilt, Planet Coruscant (Star Wars), Post-Episode: s06e04 Orders, Post-Episode: s06e07 Crisis at the Heart, Self-Hatred, Touch-Starved, if you're looking for anti-jedi fic look elsewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25196164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softmoonlight/pseuds/softmoonlight
Summary: There's a youngling perched on the roof of the Galactic Museum, and Fox isexhausted.A jaded clone and a nervous young Jedi have a conversation about duty.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & Cal Kestis
Comments: 45
Kudos: 391





	Stolen Choices

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up to the challenge five days late with a really obscure gen dynamic*

There's a youngling perched on the roof of the Galactic Museum, and Fox is _exhausted_.

No one reported this. Fox happened to be walking back to the barracks after a shift so long he no longer remembers its beginning, only the stims he took to keep himself awake. He glanced up at exactly the right moment to spot a child idly dangling their legs over the side of the building, some ten stories up—a height, insofar as Coruscant goes, is nothing.

Which means this is now his problem.

Lucky him. What's one more cut away at his sanity? He doesn't need sleep; after what he did to Fives—he _swears_ he had it set to stun, but he _kriffed up_ —he doesn't deserve it, either.

Still, he seethes as he stalks toward the building.

People refuse to behave on this kriffing planet. Everyone always has to race illegal circuits, or drunkenly brawl with each other, or cause lasting property damage for no other reason than they were bored. On the more excruciating days, there's even some explosions, attempted assassinations, and bounty hunters wreaking havoc. And who can forget the time a giant beast destroyed half of the upper city? Because that's definitely something Fox could prepare for. That was a fun experience.

Finding people where they're not supposed to be is tame by comparison, but it's still a waste of his already limited time. This kriffing kid, when he drags them out of here—

It's nearly nighttime, so the museum is closed, but there are still a few staff members loitering about. He barges in after the door gives easily.

"The roof," he says to the nearest guard. It's meant as an order, but resembles a sigh more than anything else since he no longer has the energy to slip into a truly authoritative voice.

Startled, the man stutters a moment, then gathers himself enough to point.

Fox is already moving. Too slow; he saw the lift himself. How did the Republic survive without the clones as long as it did?

He steps into the lift, swiping his pass without glancing at the access screen that pops up.

Fifteen seconds later, he's stalking out onto the roof and directly toward the youngling's back with single-minded determination. It's past _both_ their bedtimes, Fox still has a mountain of paperwork in his office, and his patience was spent at least six hours ago. He's obviously not going to hurt the kid, but he's not past ordering their ass off the roof as rudely as possible.

As he approaches, the kid whips around, eyes widening. Fox does a split-second survey: male, redhead, approximately the age of a six-year-old brother, weighs almost nothing. Another problem: the robes, the braid in his hair, and the lightsaber clipped to his belt. He's a _Jedi_ youngling, meaning Fox's job is now that much harder.

"Listen, I can explain—" a young, high voice begins nervously, once he's almost reached him.

Fox doesn't slow down until he's nearly level with the kid, centimeters away from the ledge, looming over him, arms across his chest. "Get. Up."

The boy stiffens, but doesn't otherwise move. His eyes are glued to where his legs are still kicking out over the edge. 

"I know I'm not supposed to be here, but I couldn't stay _there_!" He bursts out. His voice wobbles at the end, and dread immediately settles heavy in Fox's chest.

_Haar'chak, it's going to be one of **those**._

Why couldn't the kid just be a truant like the rest of them?

Who is he kidding, he should've realized he was in for something insane the moment he saw the lightsaber.

Resigned to his fate, Fox knows he has to tread very slowly. He loosens the intimidating posture and asks with a small sigh, "Where?"

"Th-the temple," he answers, as expected. "I don't—I can't—"

 _Please don't cry, please don't cry,_ he really doesn't know what to do with a crying kid and he's _so tired right now_.

To his relief, after another moment the boy draws in a deep breath and straightens his posture. He glances up at Fox with embarrassment plain on his face, mouth open as though to say something, but then his expression shifts into one of surprise, then curiosity, then hesitance. His stare seems to pierce directly though his armor and trap him there.

Apart from Tano and Offee, who were both older and under arrest at the time, he has no experience with Jedi children. Are they all this strange?

When he speaks again, his voice is unnaturally even with forced calm. Still holding back tears, most likely. "You're a clone."

Fox doesn't see how this relates to dangling himself off a roof at dusk, but if it keeps him calm, there's no harm in answering. "Yes."

He frowns, digesting this, then tilts his head slightly. "So...did you want to go to war?"

The question is said cautiously, but still hits with the force of a gut punch, and so random in nature that for a long, awkward moment all Fox can do is stare. "What?"

"Did you want to go to the war?" he repeats. "Fight on the front lines and everything?"

Is the boy mocking him for being stationed on Coruscant? His tone implies genuine curiosity, but he could be wrong. Either way, Fox has a job to do, and it gives him a helpful delay on such a loaded question.

"Here's the deal. I'll answer your question if you move away from the edge there." He knows there's no chance he'll be able to wrestle a Jedi child away from somewhere if they don't want to move, so he has to be diplomatic about this. As a peace offering, he degrades himself to sitting down on the rooftop a few meters away, despite the protests of his armor, and watches the kid expectantly.

The boy frowns at him, frowns down at the edge, then frowns at him again. "I can catch myself if I fall, you know," he says slowly.

But if he falls and he _dies_ , that's on Fox. He doesn't say that, though. Instead he asks mildly, "Have you ever done it before?"

"Well, no, but I've practiced catching my friends when they fell off the climbing course. It can't be that much different."

Fox does not have time for this. "Sit here. Now."

Another round of staring, and the boy finally sighs and relents. "Fine." He plops down in front of Fox with none of the Jedi's renowned grace. "I'm Cal, by the way."

"Fox."

"That's a nice name," Cal replies, and despite it being the same rote response Fox receives every time he tells a kinder-mannered nat-born his name, he's yet again struck by Cal's sincerity when he says it. "I never saw a fox before. Guess now I have." He grins sheepishly at Fox, as though expecting an eye roll behind his bucket; Fox sits there awkwardly, still at a loss of what to do or say, especially when the kid's gone from nearly crying to smiling in under two minutes. And people rarely ever smile at him, so this is disconcerting.

"So you said you'd answer my question..."

Right. That. He did say that, didn't he.

Is he actually going to confess this to a random child? He supposes he has to, since this is somehow important to why Cal was up here in the first place.

Fox chooses his words carefully. "I did want to go to the war. I'm a commander—commander of the Coruscant Guard, now, but my batchmates and I were all born to serve on the front lines, alongside Jedi Generals. It's in my genes. But someone was needed here, too, protecting the home front. My duty is to the Republic above all else, so I serve a the pleasure."

That's what he convinces himself to keep going, anyway, although lately Fox wonders if any of it was worth it.

Cal's expression turns melancholy again. While Fox was speaking, he tucked his knees under his chin and wrapped his arms around them. "I don't want to go!" He bursts out. "I'm twelve, and I'm a commander too." Freeing one arm, he gives an sloppy salute as his lips twist in a bitter smile. "Commander Kestis of the 13th Battalion, at your service. I ship out the day after tomorrow."

Fox stares. And stares. And doesn't say anything.

Then he makes a decision. He takes off his bucket. He _never_ takes off his bucket, and says as much to Cal.

"Then why did you—?"

_Because there's something poisoning the Galactic Republic, and I can finally admit it to myself, and suddenly I'm suffocating. Children going to war, brothers killing brothers, nothing ever changing. This is not what I was made for. But who can I even tell? What can I even do?_

"Because you need to look at my face when I tell you this." _I may be a bastard but I still try to help._

"Okay..." Cal says, bemused.

Fox takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet Cal's eyes unblinkingly, pushing as much gravitas as he can muster into both his voice and his expression. "You don't have to go if you don't want to."

His own words twist his stomach into knots. Because Cal still has time. He still has a modicum of freedom left, and Fox realizes he wants the kid to survive, and not become what he's become. Fox is a brother-killer now. He's less than nothing, and still, he works himself to the bone for the duty he swore himself to as a youngling. He's trapped by the war, and he can't escape. He never had that option.

The exact meaning of his words confuse him, too. What is he saying? Is he offering to help Cal escape, if the reason he's up here is because he ran away? Or is it because he wants to prevent another senseless death, so soon after being the cause of one? Cal may be a Jedi, but he's so young. Even the most skilled Jedi Masters have fallen in this war, so sending one with barely any experience seems rather like sending someone to be slaughtered.

This isn't what he expected to happen at all on this roof. He's talking to a kid he just met, trying to offer advice when, as Thorn puts it, he can barely hold himself together.

And then he remembers that Thorn is dead.

"No, I..." Cal hesitates. "I'm sure if I begged, they wouldn't make me. I'm not being truly forced. But I have to. It's my duty to the Republic. To the galaxy, to protect people. Like you said with your job," he adds, gesturing at him vaguely.

Not what he meant. At all. He opens his mouth to object, but Cal's already barreled ahead, speaking so fast the words almost tumble over each other.

"Even though the Republic says you can be a soldier or a senator and stuff at twelve, the youngest person the Jedi sent 'til now was fourteen, and they had arguments about her _all the time_ , so often that even initiates my age heard about it even though Council meetings are supposed to be private."

Fox guesses he's referring to Tano, but doesn't say anything.

"They really don't want to send us, but there are so few of us left...it was just a calculation, I guess. Even though I'm young, I'm really good. That isn't even me trying to be mean to my crèche-mates or anything, they're not bad Jedi at all, it's just that I've always had more of a grasp on the Force than some people. And I'm good at pyschometry. That's a thing where I can touch something and see things that have happened with it in the past."

Fox doesn't quite understand, but he nods. Force _osik._

Cal trails a finger boredly across the ground between them. "Anyway, I guess I'm saying...sending me is a better choice to end the war faster. The sooner we end the war, the sooner we can go back to being actual peacekeepers. At least that last part's what Caleb says. He's also going the day after tomorrow, but it's not his first time like me." He sighs and stares at his hands. "But I still don't want to go, even if I have to. I freaked out this afternoon and had to go somewhere a lot quieter to think. Which is why you found me here."

"Makes sense," Fox says, processing. That sounds like a reasonable reaction for a scared kid, actually. "You still plan to go, then?"

Cal hesitates, then nods. Fox's heart sinks, but he doesn't know what more to say. His mind's still reeling; he just learned more about the Jedi Order in a quarter hour than he ever learned about the Senate in two and a half years, and he has no idea what to do with the information. He's had nothing but bad experiences with Force users until now, between an angry Skywalker, Offee, and Tano, so he realizes he's actually glad he met one not involved in the highest galactic drama of the moment.

"Well, you'll need to be well-rested then," Fox says after another moment, and giving exaggerated glance to the sky.

Night has fallen, the sky pitch-black, pollution blanketing the stars. The buildings provide enough light to see, but sometimes Fox does wonder what the center of the galaxy looks like from the surface of a planet with an unencumbered view. If it's any different from the sparse pinpricks he saw from Kamino the few days there wasn't a torrential rainstorm.

He puts his bucket back on, stands, and beckons. "Coruscant's its own war zone sometimes, and trust me, speaking from experience, you'll need every minute you can get. Let's go. I'm legally obligated to return you to the temple."

Cal groans, but thankfully, stands and follows after Fox. "I _have_ been here a long time, I guess. Honestly, I'm surprised Master Tapal hasn't sent after me. Maybe he just thinks I've been meditating..." He falls in at Fox's side, closer than most people stand.

Since the museum lies just outside the Senate District, the walk is short. If Cal wanted to hide, he didn't do a very good job. He chatters away the entire time about everything but the war, clearly trying to keep his mind off it as long as he can. Fox indulges him, although it's not like he can get a word in edgewide regardless.

They're at the steps of the temple when Cal abruptly stops dead in his tracks.

"Cal?"

A questioning look to his side—stars, the kid barely reaches his _waist_ —Cal appears lost in thought.

He's so busy trying to figure out what happened that at first he doesn't even process that the blur that crashes into him with superhuman speed a second later _is_ Cal. When he does, he freezes, glancing down at the boy, who has wrapped both of his arms around his armor and is—inexplicably, given how small he is—squeezing hard enough that Fox can feel the warmth even through the plastoid. Either it's Jedi thing, or else Fox has finally, officially lost his mind.

Gently, he rests one hand on Cal's back to acknowledge the hug. He's too nervous to do anything more, partly because he doesn't want to...break him or anything, and partly because if he's too stunned to move.

When was the last time he was touched in a way that wasn't malicious? Months since he'd had a hug from his closer brothers because their sleep schedules hardly coincided anymore, and never, by a nat-born, because why would anyone ever hug a clone?

He'd almost forgotten what it feels like.

He's doesn't deserve it.

"Thanks," Cal mumbles, face pressed half into his armor.

"What for?" Because he has no idea. "I didn't do anything."

Cal pulls back and beams up at him. "Yes you did. You reminded me I still have a choice."

Even if he picked the choice he doesn't want? Even if he barely said anything to him? Why does he deserve a hug from a kid that just met him, who would probably hate him if he knew what he's done?

"And you were really nice and didn't make me feel dumb or anything," he continues, oblivious to the turmoil in Fox's head.

Children are kind without reason, and to people who don't deserve it, but Fox realizes he's still glad that this strange kid thought he was worth a hug.

"Fox?"

He glances down to see the kid biting his lip nervously. "Do you think the other clones will like me? The ones in my new battalion?"

Startled yet again, Fox blinks dumbly. It's rare that anyone he interacts with ever seeks a clone's approval; usually, it's the other way around and then some, with he and his brothers scrambling just to be seen as living beings. He doesn't know whether that says something about the boy, the Jedi, or the general Coruscanti citizenry. Probably all three.

Cautiously, he reaches out and ruffles the kid's hair a little, the way he's seen people do with younglings before. "Of course they will." And he has no doubt about it; if this kid could make notorious grumpy bastard _Fox_ like him in so little time, then it's guaranteed for the brothers personally assigned to him.

Cal offers him an embarrassed half-smile, even as he wrinkles his nose at his mussed hair. "Thanks. I'm just...nervous, y'know." With a dramatic sigh, he starts to move away, waving a little at him. "Bye, Fox. Next time I'm on Coruscant for leave I'll come say hi."

"Bye, Cal."

He turns around again a few steps up. "Oh, and don't worry, I didn't get any memories off the armor. Big parts of clothes usually count as a part of the person, for some reason, and people aren't objects."

 _People aren't objects._ Yeah, he'll admit it, he definitely likes the kid.

Fox watches his silhouette disappear into the temple and tries to convince himself he did everything he could. That Cal will actually survive to make it back to Coruscant. He hopes he will, but he knows as well as anyone that there's no guarantees. For all he knows, this is the first and last time he'll ever see him.

* * *

The next morning, after a miraculously uninterrupted sleep, Fox wakes with a newfound determination. The guilt remains, but it's muted. No longer consuming his entire existence. Now he has a plan.

He has to take his own advice. He may not have been given a choice to begin with, but now he has one because of Fives. Ignore the warnings, or listen. He's a person, not an object, and he shouldn't have something in his brain tagging him like glorified inventory.

The chip is coming out.

**Author's Note:**

> -Hopeful-ish ending. Even though this was supposed to be all bittersweet because in canon Cal never gets back to Coruscant and Vader kills Fox not long after Order 66, it just felt too evil. And didn't fit with the hopeful tone. So instead we're going for "everyone lives except Sheev who dies horribly as punishment for all his crimes against the clones, Jedi, and everyone else" which is much, much better.
> 
> -I completely made that stuff up at the end about psychometry. I don't actually understand how it works to be honest regarding clothing people are currently wearing. Probably not the way I wrote it, but it's my fic so I do what I want
> 
> -Writing pre-Order 66 Cal is so hard because we know what he looks like then but not much about his personality. I just made him close to how he is in the game: sweet, prone to bad jokes, latches onto parental or even just adult authority figures really fast, etc.
> 
> -Also this is not a free pass to go off on the Jedi Order. As screwed up as it is, child soldiers exist everywhere in Star Wars. In general, the gffa seems to treat children like adults much earlier than we do (for example, Padmé being a queen and a senator in her early teenage years). I'm not defending it, but I'm also totally willing to write essay-length meta on why a lot of the Jedi criticism is actually just Palpatine's propaganda if someone annoys me. Sorry if this comes off unnecessarily angry but I've just had some back experiences with fandom in the past, and I don't like that so many blame the Jedi for their own genocide.


End file.
